


To The Girl I Once Loved

by TheOceansHorizon1111



Category: To All the Boys I've Loved Before (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt, Melancholy, Romance, Sad, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:13:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27538141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOceansHorizon1111/pseuds/TheOceansHorizon1111
Summary: ‘’I’m sorry, John…’’ Lara says to me, her eyes revealing her soft sadness as she knows what she’s about to do, her mind and heart taken by Peter, her soul drifting away as I look at her.She turns away, and leaves me alone, standing in the snow.  I gulp, I take deep breaths, I bite my tongue,  I stand letting the snowflakes gently fall onto my face and my hair. Time passes.I kind of feel empty.
Relationships: John Ambrose McClaren & Lara Jean Song-Covey, John Ambrose McClaren/Lara Jean Song-Covey
Kudos: 7





	To The Girl I Once Loved

‘’I’m sorry, John…’’ Lara says to me, her eyes revealing her soft sadness as she knows what she’s about to do, her mind and heart taken by Peter, her soul drifting away as I look at her.  
She turns away, and leaves me alone, standing in the snow. I gulp, I take deep breaths, I bite my tongue, I stand letting the snowflakes gently fall onto my face and my hair. Time passes.  
I kind of feel empty.  
It’s a weird feeling. Kind of like the way when you scrape your knee and the crusty scrape starts to form and you can only either cry or shrug it off. The burning sensation stings at first but then the shock starts to settle in. But it’s still there. And truth be told, ignoring it doesn’t change anything.  
I don’t know why I’m comparing anything that happened to a scraped knee, it’s more like a scraped heart. I’m not sure if it hurts horribly or if the pain’s going to cascade in any second the way an avalanche falls and the thick matter of ice falls down and cracks into a powder of white dust at the bottom.  
Ice. Heh, I guess that’s kind of relative. I’ve been lying on the ground for longer than I should, watching the snowflakes settle in and drift in the sky. It’s almost like a movie sequence, the way the snow just drifts on down, and it feels like I’m being spiritually drawn into watching the piercing night sky produce beautiful snowflakes.  
Ugh, distractions don’t really work. I’m kind of hurt. Maybe not surprised, but I feel like there was a glimmer of hope that was stuck in my heart and that small glimmer of light oozing from the clouds of my heart have now evaporated and the darker clouds have set, threatening to rain down on the parade.  
Ugh, analogies? Aren’t they beautiful? Am I lame? Heh, maybe lame in a cool way. I never realized how cool that sentence sounded until Lara Jean mentioned it to me, and somehow those memories are starting to resurface.  
But isn’t true love all about sacrifice? The chivalrous knight sacrifices his life for the princess? The man waits 27 years for his beloved to return? Ugh, all in stories, but maybe life is a grand story and we’re just not realizing the parts we play.  
I get up, and stand on my feet. It’s shaky at first but nevertheless, I’m not completely falling apart, at least not yet, but my throat’s starting to hurt as if a cold grip is threatening to strangle it as it drowns me underwater. I look down at the snow angel I made in the snow, and it’s a nice snow angel, bringing me back to memories of days when I would make snow angels as a kid, just free of pain, free of…I don’t know, I guess free of being in complicated love triangles, and being the opposite end of the spectrum.  
Then it kind of hits. Slowly, like when the rain starts to drip and you feel the wet drops on the top of your head but eventually cascades into something bigger, the drips clink harder and the noise starts to hit on the pavement with loud bursts. Whatever rain drops my heart was feeling was about to leak out, and the light rain was about to be heavier.  
Ugh, stupid analogies again, well, I guess you could say I’m lame. But lame in a cool way. And maybe not lame, but maybe just sad. Sad in a cool way?  
Next to my snow angel is the snow angel she made right next to me, and in the snow is carved two snow angels, together, happy, whole, complete, not separated. I kind of miss her already, and when I look to the house, I see the window where the older people are dancing, and I look down at the snow angels, a perfect reminder of how memories can only be stored in the mind and can never be traced back. The snow angels we both did are now looked at by only one person, and the other has left. Perhaps for the better, perhaps it was meant to be.  
And yet, there’s a tear forming in my eyes, threatening to burst, pent up emotion that has been kind of swimming in my head for the past half hour ever since she left. I don’t know, pretty much on one hand, I want to cry, let those emotions out, but there’s something that feels selfish about it as well. Why cry when Lara Jean is happy? Because it doesn’t matter that she didn’t choose me as long as the one she chose resonates with her heart.  
Dang, who knew it’d take one depressing unrequited love moment to feel completely poetic? Maybe I should sign up for poetry in the future, could be an interesting thing to pursue. Maybe I’d meet someone there, someone…Else? Someone else maybe? Because, plenty of fishes in the sea right?  
But, yet, if there are plenty of fishes in the sea, what if…What if I want someone with adorable soft cheeks? Who glances around the room as if she’s preparing herself not to be awkward? Or what if I want someone who blushes at the most random moments? Or who smiles like she never lost that youthful and adorable child within her? Someone whose voice is calm, yet almost mystical, and so dreamy…? Someone who could tease me lightly in a way that didn’t make me feel alone but instead validated? Someone who would put her hands behind her back awkwardly shaking her head with an embarrassed yet gorgeous smile being painted onto her face? Hell, what if I want Lara Jean? What if I…Made a mistake?  
And you might be wondering what I mean by mistake. How could falling in love with Lara Jean be a mistake? Well, sometimes, maybe it feels like it was. Because when you fall in love, your mind gets carried, it takes you on a horse that you ride up into the mystical heavens of imagination where you start daydreaming, where they become the thing the earth of your heart spins around and revolves. Falling in love is dangerous, it’s unplanned, yet…It can never be a mistake, I guess.  
But yet I thought of us. I thought of…Ugh, it’s stupid, but I thought of so many things. I thought of us going on a dinner date, where I’d bring the red roses in a plastic bag and I’d pull the chair for her to sit on. I thought of watching her accidentally clumsily drip spaghetti down her chin as we ate. I thought of another dance, my hands on her waist, as her big doe eyed pupils would be gazing into mine and for a second I’d feel the entire world right beside me. And she’d lean it, slowly, and I would too, before pressing onto her warm lips and tasting her, feeling her warm breath spread into mine and captivate me with luscious, warm energy. Let’s just do that…One more time.  
It seems like the realm of my imagination couldn’t match up with what happened, and that’s where the tear is rolling off from my eyes and staining my cheek. I bite my lip, wanting to stop it, but the memories and the daydreams start to roll off into my brain and alongside that comes a feeling of bitterness, a feeling of pain.  
I don’t know what to really say. I’m kind of still shocked, but I do know I feel jealous even if I’m happy for her. Because that’s all I really want, is for her to be happy. For her to watch Peter drip spaghetti down his chin, for her to smile when he places roses at her doorstep, when they…When they…It’s difficult to say it for some reason. But when their lips lock, and afterwards, she’d smile at Peter’s deep brown eyes, and she’d be happy…Just happy, and that’s all I want. Truly, all I want.  
It’s snowing, but I’ve decided to walk home. The cream colored suit I’m wearing is thick enough to keep me warm, but the snow seems to be melting in my head, and my hot tears seem to feel stronger against the cold wind. I’m jealous…And I hate to be jealous. But I’ve always felt that way around Peter. Always have.  
A memory flashes into my head, and it’s one that I suppress and don’t like to spend much time thinking about. 6th grade graduation dance. Sabrina Fox, and it’s funny that I can still remember her pitch black hair which fell onto her shoulders and her piercing eyes that stood out from her pale, snow white skin.  
I remember being invited by her, and feeling…Happy. As a child, I’ve always felt different, I’ve always felt that I was the kid who was always left out and was somehow struggling to just find a bunch of people who accepted me. It’s a cruel, toxic world, especially in middle school, and I thought that maybe things were changing, that I could find meaningful connections with people who weren’t toxic.  
I remember her plastered smile as she asked me out, and she gently touched my shoulders when she did with a small laugh. I used to think it was genuine, and I was more naive during those days. Naive to the point where I dressed up into a small black suit that my mom helped me get into, and I remember opening the door to the Graduation dance, with a smile on my face and my head up as I could feel the sensation of entering a whole new world of potential memories, of potential…Love?  
When I saw Sabrina, she kind of gave me an odd look, and she looked around the room as if she was searching for someone else. What was funny is that I shrugged it aside as her maybe not seeing me enter the room, and so I went over to her and I saw the same plastered smile come onto her face and I awkwardly said hi to her and I placed my hands on hers as we started slow dancing.  
That’s kind of when things started to hit me. When my hands were together with hers, I didn’t feel the connection that I was hoping to have, the intensity, the passion, the love…It just wasn’t there, and her eyes. Her eyes never looked into mine, but they’d be looking at Peter who was taking turns dancing with various girls. And she’d always tried to drift ourselves near him, and then it’d happen, when she asked me to get punch for her that was being served on the other side of the room, and being me, I wanted to make her smile so I did exactly that, only to turn my back and see her dancing with Peter.  
I remember feeling shocked…Just standing there in my black suit, uncertain, insecure, feeling like I’ll never be good enough and maybe I won’t ever be. Because here I am, again, standing in my white suit, shocked, feeling uncertain, insecure. But this time…It hurts more, because Lara Jean meant more to me than Sabrina Fox ever could in a million years.  
I want to hold Lara Jean’s hand again. I want to feel the warm touch, I want to hear her laugh again, I want to see her smile again…I just want everything again. I want those moments we shared about an hour ago to be on repeat, but the question is…Will it ever? All they are is memories formed inside my head, memories that can never return, memories that fade. And I don’t want them to fade, ever.  
But she’s chosen him, and I can’t ever be him. I’m not tall with smooth black hair and a witty smile, I don’t play sports, I’m not strong like he is. I don’t have his air of confidence. All I have is…Me. The boy who smiles and hides whatever pain he feels inside who pretends that he’s always fine.  
My mom is cheerful as she opens the door to see me. I give her a smile and give her a soft hug, embracing in her warmth for a split second. She helps me take off my suit and I go to my room to change. I take off everything and put on some sweat pants and a hoodie on. I take a deep breath as I turn the light on and sit on my bed, rather mindlessly staring at the books that are placed in my shelf right in front of me.  
But then I notice something that catches the corners of my eyes. Something tucked behind on the book shelf, hiding in the corner, something I hadn’t noticed before. But my head tilts to see what it is, and I see the thick chunk of paper fitted next to the last book on the corner. I get on my knees, feeling the fuzziness of the carpet, and I take the paper out.  
It feels smooth, but it’s still thick, with sharp edges around the sides. And I feel a small clink on my knee, and my eyes look down to see a ballpoint pen. I pick the pen, and I automatically click it. I press the pen gently on the paper to see if it works. And small black ink oozes out of the pen onto the pale white paper.  
I get up from the carpet and go over to the small bench that is front of my bed, I turn on the lamp light and place the paper onto the wooden surface, and I sit right onto the small chair that’s right and lean over letting the light reflect on my paper and placing the pen onto the top right hand corner of the paper.  
For some reason, I need this. My emotions are bubbling on the surface, a feeling of longing places itself into my heart, and I bite my tongue, as I know that this is something I need. My hands slightly shake, and I’m not doing this because I’ll ever show Lara Jean, but because I need to let it out.  
The pen starts writing as my thoughts flow.

Dear Lara Jean, you hurt me. And I know…I know it wasn’t your fault, but you hurt me. And I guess we weren’t meant to be, but how come those feelings that I have are bubbling deep down? How come they aren’t fading away? How come love is so complicated? How come I want to have you with me, how come I want you close? How am I so in love? And how is it that you’re perfect in my eyes, like heaven’s light? But that I’m in no way perfect in your eyes? Why is he perfect? Why? Is he better than me? Is Peter better? I feel horrible, and I’m just being honest. Like…I’m in love with you! I’m in love with you! I want to scream it at you, I want to scream it at the whole world. And I feel alone. I’ve felt alone my whole life, around other kids, around Peter, Sabrina…But you…You didn’t make me feel alone, Lara Jean, and I miss that, I miss everything. And I can’t replay those memories no matter how hard I try, and I just can’t seem to accept that this is goodbye. I can’t accept that we’ll…That we’ll be never. Never! Never, we’re just, we’re never. Yet even though our memory has been gone and you’re now with him. I still taste you, I still taste you right now as I’m looking outside the snow covering my window. I wish…I wish you didn’t let me in. Because, boy, did you let me in, damnit, you let me in and crushed whatever hope I had. Leading me in, never being clear, and yet…I still want you, and I want you more than ever. 

I look at the letter I’ve created, and for some reason, I can’t throw it away. I’ll never show it to Lara Jean, never, ever, because I’m better than that, and I want her to be happy, I would never want to fill her with guilt that she’d drown in. I want her to be happy with him, but yet as I look at the trash can ready to throw away the letter, to completely discard it, for whatever reason, I hesitate. And with that hesitation comes flashes of us being together, but I shake my head, clear those thoughts and place the letter in the trash.  
But then I take it out, and I look at my closet, I see a small plastic box on the top. I contemplate, why can’t I throw it away? I’ll never show her. But even if I don’t want to show her, what if there’s a part of me that needs token it? As a reminder of how I’ve felt for her? Why does my gut want to keep this letter? Am I being weird? Immature?  
But somehow, even if I’ll never show her, I’ll still keep this. I feel better, so much better, like pent up sadness is being met by some kind of relief, a feeling of easiness, a feeling of being okay, a feeling of peace.  
‘’John! Dinner’s ready!’’ My mom calls from down the stairs but loud enough for me to hear.  
‘’Coming, mom!’’ I reply back.  
I look outside the window, the snow’s starting to fade away, and as I go closer to the window and see the cars outside, I can imagine Peter and Lara Jean in the snow holding hands as they smile with each other as they gaze up at the last bits of snow flakes hitting the ground, Peter’s warm arms hugging her and wrapped around her.  
I look at the letter I’ll never show her and a small tear drops in the place of her name, and I gulp deeply, feeling a shakiness enter into my veins. Tears are starting to leak out from my eyes and cascade down my cheek.  
I click my ballpoint pen and add one more section before going down to eat dinner with mom, I write the last few words on the letter I’ll never send.

Yours truly,

John Ambrose

P.S: I know it’s not your fault, but you hurt me.


End file.
